


Something warm

by duesternis



Series: Shoot me down and lift me up [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breakfast, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, M/M, Not Overwatch AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7610320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse McCree makes breakfast and manages to cheat around some important concepts.<br/>Hanzo Shimada eats breakfast and lets him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-----<br/>Part two of a series of Crime-syndicate AU ficlets. There will be a continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something warm

**Author's Note:**

> you should probably read the first part of "Shoot me down and lift me up" before reading this. because marik made me write a direct follow up.

It wasn’t the light that woke him up in the morning.  
It wasn’t the dull ache in his limbs that woke him up either.  
Hanzo blinked sluggishly into the grey gloom surrounding him. It smelled of cedar and vanilla and something hot.  
He was warm and rested.  
With stiff limbs he sat up and a heavy blanket slipped from his shoulders. The sweater he was wearing was not his own.  
Suddenly he was wide awake.

With alert eyes he scanned the big room for McCree. And found him by the kitchenette. Wearing a pair of sweatpants and his weird cloak above it.  
“McCree.” Hanzo’s voice was a croak, his throat dry and raw. He coughed.  
Carefully he swung his legs out of the bed and found it unbearably cold in the flat. He still got up. Remembered that McCree had asked him to say Jesse, last night and swallowed.  
McCree turned around, a spatula in his hand. An unlit cigarillo was hanging from his wide mouth and Hanzo found himself staring at it.  
“Mornin’ there, sleepin’ beauty! Thought ya’d never wake up.” A warm chuckle and he turned back to the stove. A whistle on his lips.  
The radio was silent.  
“What time is it?” Hanzo slowly moved through the flat in the half light spilling in from the few windows under the ceiling, and the one in the kitchen. A single light bulb was burning above McCree.  
Who finished whistling his tune, flipped something in his pan and then looked at Hanzo over his shoulder.  
“Breakfast time?” A grin and Hanzo noticed how tired McCree looked. His cheeks were still red with windburn and dark circles lay under his eyes.  
He nodded and stepped further up to the counter. “May I assist you?” Hanzo suppressed a low shiver.  
“Nah, almost done. Maybe set the table, tho?” A flashing grin. “Cutlery’s thataway and dishes too.”  
The spatula lost a piece of something as McCree indicated no specific cupboard in the kitchen. Hanzo lifted a brow and set to rummaging through them all.  
He found a lot of junk, a pair of boots and ammunition in the first two. Then movies and magazines. Then liquor. Then finally plates and mugs.  
McCree was humming again. The kitchen smelled like coffee and spice.  
Another shiver and this time too big to hide.

“You still cold, darlin’?” McCree looked at him over his shoulder again. Hanzo shook his head. It was manageable, nothing severe.  
“Aww, c‘mon. Talk to me. Can’t read‘cha thoughts.” A half laugh and Hanzo opened another drawer to finally find cutlery. Not one piece fit together.  
A warm hand closed over his wrist and Hanzo smoothly got himself out of the grip without thinking. His eyes shot up angrily and he met a concerned stare.  
“You’re ice-cold!” McCree tore his cloak off and draped it over Hanzo’s shoulders. It was the one he had leaned against on the ride yesterday. He still remembered the warmth it had emitted.  
“I…”  
“Ya need t’ sit down and eat something hot, drink something and let yaself get warm again, Hanzo. Else ya just get sick.” McCree herded him to the tiny table and made him sit down. A second later a steaming mug appeared.  
“The omelet’ll be another mo, tho.” Another grin.  
Hanzo wrapped his hands around the mug and stifled a sigh. The cloak was still warm from McCree’s body heat and the mug was extraordinarily pleasing to hold.  
Then a plate full of omelet found its way on the table. It smelled delicious.  
“Now, eat up.” McCree smiled and sat down across from Hanzo. He was wearing a thin sweater and the left arm was rolled up to where it ended, just below the elbow.  
Hanzo took a sip from his mug to hide his face.

 

Jesse shoveled omelet into his mouth, took a slurp of coffee and bit into his toast. He was still feeling the cold, like a coyote creeping around his campfire. Far enough to not be seen, close enough to be heard.  
But there was something about the orderly way Shimada ate that warmed him from the inside. Careful bites and almost soundless slurps of coffee. His lips never fully wrapped around his fork.  
Jesse swallowed noisily and leaned back a bit. Stretched his legs and bumped against Shimada’s feet. “Ah, sorry.”  
“It is fine.” Shimada didn’t even look up from his plate. His hair was unkempt and Jesse wanted to drag his fingers through it.  
Wait, what?

He moved his feet. Blinked.  
“Your feet are cold. Like, really cold, sweetheart.”  
A pointed look at the coffee mug and Shimada stayed silent. His cheeks were red, but only god knew where that came from. Prolly windburn.  
“Aw, jeez.” Jesse shifted his chair closer to the table. Shimada frowned.  
“What is it now?”  
“Put‘cha feet in my lap.” An encouraging slap on his right thigh. The frown deepened. “It’ll warm ya up real nice‘n‘easy. Promise.”  
“No.” Shimada simply went back to eating. Jesse sighed. How difficult could one person get, really?  
“Or at least drape the serape over yer legs. Tuck ‘em in.” He rubbed his hand over his face, fork held at an angle to avoid stabbing himself in the eye.  
“The what.” Shimada’s flat voice prompted a snort out of Jesse. He pointed at the red serape around Shimada’s shoulders.  
“The serape.”  
A moment of stillness, then Shimada folded himself on the chair and draped the serape around himself like a king might wear his cloak.  
Jesse’s throat was suddenly dry and he swallowed around a lump perching in it.  
They finished breakfast in silence.

 

Hanzo stood before the sink and brushed his hair with McCree’s brush.  
With practised movements he pulled his hair into a ponytail and then twisted it into a bun. Decided against fixing it like that and let the ponytail slip through his hands again.  
The serape was still around his shoulders and it really was keeping him very warm. The dull ache in his limbs was slowly settling into something ignorable.  
Slowly Hanzo let his mind clamber through the last day. He had known the Deadlock Gang would try something.  
But that they would go for full-blown execution had been both unthinkable and very much out of their area of expertise.  
They were robbers, kidnappers, intimidaters. Not killers.

Noticeable in the fact that their target was standing in the right-hand-man’s bathroom, trying to decide if he wanted to put his own clothes on again or rather not.  
McCree’s clothes were soft and warm and they were pleasant enough to wear. He had slept in them, but his suit had seen a long trip by car, a chase and a snow storm.  
So he had no idea what would be the better option.  
Going with intuition he compromised. Suit pants and McCree’s sweater. If possible he would never give the serape away again.  
Even though the rim was frayed and had holes it was warm and soft. Fulfilling its purpose greatly.

Hanzo stepped out of the bathroom to come face to face with a shirtless Jesse McCree.  
The hair on his chest was brown and thick.  
“Oh, hey there. Thought ya’d be another moment.” A loose smile and McCree sat down on the bed. He picked something up from the floor.  
His prosthetic.  
Hanzo moved to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Drained it slowly, until enough time had passed to make sure McCree was done.  
He turned around again, mouth already half opened to ask something, but McCree was staring at the floor, prosthetic arm hanging limply from his whole hand.  
The flat was thick with silence.

Hanzo leaned against the counter and crossed his feet at the ankles. His arms naturally crossed over his chest. He frowned.  
“Why?”  
The silence stretched and almost became natural. Then McCree shifted. Coughed and put the arm on the bed.  
“Why what? Gotta gimme a bit more to work with here.” He looked at Hanzo, eyes open and warm and tired.  
Hanzo pondered what was the more pressing question of the two. “Why did you not shoot me?”  
“Oh, boy. Didn‘t we have this already?” A long sigh and McCree fumbled a cigarillo from his pocket. Lit up with one hand and blew a tendril of smoke against the ceiling.  
Then he shrugged. Hanzo felt a curl of anger in his belly. He made a demanding step forward and opened his mouth.  
“Thought it was unfair. To shoot a man in the back.” A shrug, one-shouldered, weary.  
Hanzo stood in the kitchen, hands balled into fists and didn’t know what to do.  
“’S a low thing, I s‘ppose. Bad way to go.”  
Silence settled in with them again.

Then: “You have my gratitude. I owe you my life, Jesse McCree.” Hanzo caught McCree’s wide eyed stare, held it and then bowed deeply, eyes towards the floor.  
“Hey, now…”, softly from the bed. Then the sounds of footsteps and soon a warm hand, heavy, settled on Hanzo’s shoulder.  
“C‘mon. Everybody would‘a done it.”  
Hanzo straightened his back and looked McCree into the eyes. They were standing so close together that he had to crane his head a bit. Heat emanated from McCree‘s bare chest.  
“No. No one I know would have done what you did. You save my life, you shelter me at your home, you endanger your life. I owe you mine, Jesse McCree.”  
A whispered curse and then just brown eyes looking back at Hanzo. A very careful nod.  
“Then promise me, you’ll keep it. Keep ya life and I won’t’ve t’ call on your debt.”  
A breath slipped out of his chest, surprise riding high on his brow.  
McCree just looked at him, eyes serious and mouth caught in a lopsided smile.  
Hanzo smiled back. That was cheating a life debt.  
He decided to allow it.

Just this once.


End file.
